


Social Lubricant For Those Creaking Joints

by orphan_account



Category: due South
Genre: Alcohol, Dancing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4410647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not that I approve of alcohol as a social lubricant, but it's sure a good way to get me to dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Social Lubricant For Those Creaking Joints

**Author's Note:**

> I will blame this on the drink herein described, and the song that set me tripping about my house this evening.
> 
> Thanks to jediseagull for a quick beta!

Ray opened the door sans ceremony, didn't even glance up at his guest before turning back into his apartment and moving slowly, not quite limpingly to the stereo. "Make yourself at home, Fraser," was tossed over his shoulder.

He seemed troubled, or tired, or tense - they all had the same symptoms in Ray Kowalski, so Benton Fraser just moved inside, shut the door, and placed his contribution to the evening on the kitchen counter. "Good evening Ray, and thank you for inviting me over." He looked at the bottle he'd just put on the tile and recognized a need to apologize: "Your invitation was unexpected, so I was unable to procure a suitable wine in the time available, so I've brought what I could from my own resources..."

Ray looked up at the word "wine". "This isn't formal or anything, buddy, you don't need to drink toasts to my health. But thanks. Wha'd you bring?"

Benton selfconsciously stroked his eyebrow. _I really need to break that habit,_ he thought. "A ...gift, from your namesake. Nothing personal, or special. A liqueur, I think. Grappa. He brought it over one evening when our dinner was interrupted by a group of Moldovan terrorists..."

Ray had stopped listening to him, popped off the sort of glass-cork-top of the stuff, sniffed it ...and swigged. His eyebrows rose, he took a step back, coughed, and stared at the bottle before placing it carefully on the counter. Ray blinked, looked up at Benton, and said somewhat raggedly, "Not the sort of thing I expected you to bring, Frase."

Benton's finger found his brow again as he let himself collapse on the couch, to the mute rejoicing of his feet. _14 rooftops._ "It was what I had. Perhaps the word was liquor, and I misheard."

Ray grinned. "No fear, not here. We'll just do something with it." After a moment by the bottle, he turned to his pantry and glassware started clinking on the shelf.

* * *

Ray poured a glass half full with the grappa and then started poking at his stash, absentmindedly rubbing at his sore knee. Long day.

 _Stuff's made of grapes, you can taste it, so maybe a wine... have I got a wine? Oh here's a port. Strong, still, but not too much and at least it's got flavor._ Another quarter of the glass filled with port - gave it a real nice color - and then the rest with water because Ray wasn't crazy. _Good enough._

He took his glass over to the couch and plopped next to Fraser, giving the makeshift cocktail a demonstrative swig. _Flavor's okay. Good._ Ray smiled his approval at Fraser, who nodded back but made no move to mix something for himself.

"I'm glad you were able to make it palatable, Ray. Again, my apol - "

"No, Frase, just don't want to get drunk before dinner is all," Ray said, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Pizza should be here in 15."

He needed to dance in 10.

Ray couldn't understand it, didn't need to understand it, he had to move, and his feet felt sure and light. Happy. His feet, his hips, his KNEES felt *happy*.

The stereo switched over to the ELO. Ray jumped up, and *moved*

* * *

The stereo was speaking over a piano on a driving beat, "...forecast calls for blue skies," when suddenly, with the upswing, Ray was out of his seat and, in one smoothly unbalanced motion, on the other side of the coffee table.

He moved. And he smiled, like something had hold of him behind the eyes, like giddiness had grasped him and wouldn't let go. Ray shone with eager energy.

Ray's feet were on the carpet in front of the television, but his right hand gestured over space four feet to the right. What should have been a stumble resolved into a swift exchange of orientation, and now, to the words _Mr Blue Sky, please tell us why_ , he had his feet beside the coffee table and his hands gesturing before the television. Benton felt almost dizzy, unsure.

Fascinated.

He lifted Ray's glass, and smelled it. _Ethanol. Sugar. Grapes._ Nothing suspicious or even unknown.

His brow crinkled, and Benton looked back up at Ray, who was mouthing the words as he danced, _Everybody smiles at you,_ and then the eyes were on him, and Ray's hand opened before him.

Benton froze for an instant, then raised the glass to his lips, swallowed, and grabbed Ray's hand.


End file.
